oUR GROUP

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As we mentioned above, we also include a group for combat veterans. This group meets every Monday evening. Its membership is only combat veterans, and it is solely for the support of combat veterans, aka grunts. This Vets Helping Vets group does require a DD214 that shows a combat MOS with corresponding service ribbons and deployments. Although the group does not offer professional services, it does offer a path to the special camaraderie built on the experiences of others who, like you, survived combat and its long term effects. If you feel this need, here is a very effective way to build a bond with veterans who have walked your same path, both in combat and after their service. They still walk the path, but it’s not as challenging for them now. 

These meetings are spontaneous. There is no agenda, so all we can say is you have to be there to appreciate how this group helps each other get back to the world. If you wish more information on this group, please call Jesse at 864-245-0181.

Here is the story of the Monday night group in the words of one of its members:

Dealing with the wounds of war is not an easy thing. Most, simply, do not understand. Others don’t even want to take the time to understand. Still more, just want to push it all to the side as if none of this ever happened.

I deal with PTSD like many of the men I will be seeing tonight. Fits of absolute rage, sadness and depression are my daily lot in life. Thank God for the peaceful moments, the moments with my wife, kids, and grandkids. They are what keeps me going. My wife of forty years has seen it all. She deserves a Silver Star herself. Maybe even the Medal of Honor. She, my friends, is a Warrior. She’s a Warrior because she has fought way more battles of the unknown than I ever have. Most of my actions came with a full knowledge of what lay ahead. Her battles don’t. Oftentimes she’s on the receiving end of one of my PTSD ambushes. Yet for some reason, she stands firm and strong. She’s had more than ample reason to leave me behind and walk away from it all. I am glad she hasn’t.

This is real. As real as it gets. And many of the men you will see in this story have a similar tale to tell.

It’s dark, deep, and ever present.

I walk into this small “man cave,” situated in the corner of a large shop, on the property of one of the members of Vets Helping Vets. The first impression I get is one of busyness. There are pictures, posters, anecdotes, and collectibles lining the walls and shelves in this small room. It’s almost too much to take in on one visit.

Yet as I look around this room…a room filled with tables, chairs, a pool table, coffee pot and other items and I find myself doing something that I have done for years…locating a place to sit where my back is not facing the entryways. I locate the two doors that give access to the room. I determine which would be my quickest escape route should I need to leave the room in a hurry. I do this practically everywhere I go…restaurants, doctors’ offices, the mall. I even do this at home. I have taught my wife, kids, and grandkids to do this. I teach situational awareness to my family because I know that I will not always be present where they are.

We live in a crazy world, and it’s my job to protect them.

Unbeknownst to others, I begin to observe them as they enter the room. Small talk is exchanged, handshakes and hugs are shared, jokes and insults are laughed about. There is a sense of joy in the room, but even more pervasive is the underlying sense of tension I feel. You see, these men are all combat veterans with a story they have carried most of their lives. We are all here for the same reasons…unity, comradery, and healing. That sensation of tension also creeps in because you never know what is going to be said, what you may have to relive, or deal with at this ninety-minute meeting.

If nothing else, honesty will be on full display at these meetings.

Here's a note about honesty:  in an isolated place like in this,  this sort of honesty will be found nowhere else. Honesty is medicine. No one likes to take medicine, yet it is often called for. If you don’t want to take your medicine, this meeting is more than likely, not for you. One other thing…this meeting is for Combat Veterans and veterans dealing with the darkness of PTSD. If those two things do not describe you, stay at home. You will be called out and put in your place.  You can share whatever you want at this meeting, but just know this, these men have a sense about them that many do not have…the ability to know falsehoods when they see it. You see, they have been there. 

This is not your garden variety counseling session. You can cuss if you need to, you can remain silent if that is your wish. Just don’t try to sway these men with false claims. They know the drill.

I look at each man as he seeks a place like mine…protected, near someone he has grown to trust.

The colors in the room are the next thing that really captivates me. I’m not speaking of the colors of the room itself, but the colors of the men themselves and the colors they wear. This room is made up of men from all nationalities, races, and creeds. Their colors tell their stories without one even knowing it. However, the colors that stand out the most are the colors found in their unit patches, their combat awards, and the different shades of grey in their hair, beards, and mustaches.

Some enter the room, moving very well and with ease. Others come in bearing the ravages of time, combat and the burdens, wounds and scars they bear. Each man in this room has a tattoo. Some are on the outside, visible for all to see. The biggest and most profound though are found on their hearts and minds. These you cannot always see, but when you can, they display a message that few can comprehend. These tattoos are not like those on the outside. Most of these tattoos look more like something a young child would draw…many colors, many shapes and activity everywhere that resembles nothing easily identifiable. These tattoos are their wartime experiences, where chaos, death and destruction were the rule of the day. Unlike their tattoos that spread across their outer bodies, the heart and mind tattoos can never be removed. They will be carried to their graves with them and are only visible when the veteran chooses to display them.

I observe the colors of their awards and decorations. These are outward, visible, and proudly displayed. I see the color Silver…the color of Jump Wings and our Nation’s third highest award, the Silver Star. These belong to a special breed of man. A man few can fully understand. I see the color Purple…belonging to those who were injured during combat operations; their scars still on display to this day. These scars become conversation starters for these men. A wound that never heals yet hides a mystery to understanding this man.

I see the Black, White, and Gold of the 101st Airborne Division, sitting right next to the Red, White, and Blue of the 82nd Airborne Division. I glance to my right, and I see the Red and Gold of the Proud United States Marine Corps. Seated just across the room are the colors of Blue and White, representing the United States Air Force. In the back, I sit with the colors of Tan and Black, presenting the United States Army Special Forces.

My gaze continues around the room, in awe and amazement. I see Bronze. Bronze is a special color for veterans. It identifies a veteran’s efforts on the battlefield, often with repeated awards. There’s the Bronze Star, awarded for Valor and the Bronze stars attached to their Combat Infantryman’s Badge. These stars represent the fact that these men have seen more hell in short term combat engagements, than most men will see in a lifetime.

Let’s talk about that word Valor for a moment. It will give you a glimpse into just who these men are.

Valor means this – It signifies courage and boldness, strength of mind in resisting fear. It clearly identifies a man’s worth, his value. Most of the men in this room have the color Bronze on some award they wear. If not, the color Bronze can be found in their skin, the color of age, experience, and past battles they have fought both on the battlefield and off.

Another compelling thing I see as I shift my eyes around the room, are the faces of these men. Some old and weathered, some younger, yet they all look like the maps we from the military are all too familiar with. You see, these men’s faces are maps. Maps these men used while involved in combat and other operations. These faces, like the maps they used on the ground, contain contour lines. On a map, these contour lines determine the lay of the land one is working in. They show the steepness of the terrain and serve to point out danger areas or other potential trouble spots. The maps on the faces of these men do the same. If you look closely at these men’s faces, you will see that they are very different. The terrain they have traveled to reach this point has been long, hard, and filled with danger points. They have walked the steepest and the flattest of terrain, yet the rigors of both are on full display. Some of the lines converge, most often indicating a tough road ahead. Others just run straight, long, and deep. Unlike everyone in this room, our Air Force brothers, see this map a bit differently. They see it from above. That is both a blessing and a curse. It means that they didn’t always see the map as the man on the ground did, but they saw the much bigger picture painted by these same maps. They saw and supported the men on the ground, many engagements at the same time. The maps on their faces are just as telling.

Things start to settle in. Men get their coffee, soda or even water to drink. On occasion, someone will bring a box of doughnuts or cookies, something to help break the tension everyone feels. There is always fresh popcorn. Man, do these men love popcorn. I am sure that I share this sentiment with many others present – popcorn also takes us back in time. It takes us back to a time of innocence. It reminds of us days hanging around cheap movie theaters or drive-ins.

Looking back, tension may not be the correct word. Maybe apprehension better serves the feeling I and others feel. Being in a room like this, with men of this caliber, always begs the question, “Do I really belong here? What have I done that even comes close to comparing with others around this room?”

That feeling is quickly dispelled as we all stand and recite the “Pledge of Allegiance.” It is in looking at “Old Glory” and proudly stating the words of the Pledge, that everyman in attendance realizes that yes, he does belong in this group.

The Colors of our National Flag are these:

Red – Which signifies hardiness and valor.

White - Points to purity.

Blue - Identifies vigilance, perseverance, and justice.

Each man in this room made a pledge to uphold these values and beliefs years ago. They still believe them and defend them today. That’s what tells them they belong in this group. The prices they paid in doing this are what keep them part of this Brotherhood!

The leader of this group, A Vietnam Combat Veteran, proudly wearing his 101st Airborne Division hat, opens the meeting. Sometimes the floor remains his during the entire time together. However, most nights, everyone has a chance to speak, and does so. Others choose to sit silently and take it all in. Either choice is fine. Just having that man present is what really matters. He’s a member of the Brotherhood and his absence would make the group incomplete. His presence, whether filled with stories or silent, is his way of showing the others that he has their back.

What begins to shape up next is not for the faint at heart. If your sensibilities are easily offended, stay home. Most of the stories and comments you will hear from these men are not safe for work or families. The language is often raw and spoken from the heart. Sometimes these words are softly spoken, almost on the verge of not being able to be heard at all. Other times they are shouted in anger…anger sometimes directed at another man, but more than likely, they are words of anger spoken toward a government that has let them down. A government that has let unfulfilled promises die on the battlefield of political expediency and red tape.

Sometimes this anger emanates from guilt, loss, and pain.

- Guilt because they are still here while friends and comrades are no longer among us.

- Loss of these same friends and comrades and loss their families have suffered while they have been left having to deal personally, with the aftermath of war.

- Pain. The pain of physical wounds and recovery. Pain of time lost away from loved ones. Pain of knowing the things they were forced to do while defending this country. The pain of being swept under the rug by an ungrateful citizenship and government.

These men seated around this room are warriors. They don’t look at themselves as such, but they are. Their hats, patches, colors…they all tell their stories. You don’t wear the things these men wear and not be a warrior. They each fought and served for the same reasons…for this Country and for those we love, in hopes that we would never have to call upon future generations to do so.

The discussions in this environment are nothing if they are not passionate. Hell, we are as passionate about one another and our experiences as we are in getting a bad hamburger at the local hamburger joint. We wear our passion for all to see and to hell with whoever doesn’t like it. We are changed men. Never again will we venture back to the fields we once walked before our days in combat zones. You can’t. It’s physically and mentally impossible. You cannot “unsee” what these men have seen and continue to see every night of their lives. You cannot get the smell of blood, cordite and combat out of your nostrils. The sound of incoming fire, mortars and artillery are as prominent today as are the sounds of the rotor blades on the medivac chopper coming to take them or their brothers out of harm’s way. Combat paints pictures upon our souls that are eternal.

Yet these men come to the Monday Night Meeting willingly. Warts and all.

Still, I find myself gazing at the men in this room. I listen intently as each one shares his stories or frustrations. I see some men, the maps of their faces now bearing the mark of a newfound river on them. What you don’t know is that these new rivers are the tears that roll down each face as they remember. These stories they share take them back to that very moment in time when all this pain and suffering began. They are teenagers once again or men in their early twenties or even thirties. Nonetheless, they are somehow transported back in time…to a time when innocence was lost for them.

They see and vividly remember the horror and fear they felt in those moments. They see their comrades fall again and again, night after night. They view these faces through the smoke and confusion of war. They even see some of these faces when they walk down the street in their own neighborhoods. They see these faces in the faces of their own children, because they know what their brothers in arms left behind.

These men in this room share their stories because, to them, that is their truth. That is the truth they were forced to live in at that moment in time, that moment in history. And never forget this, it was an historic moment. It is historic by the mere fact that something was recorded in their memories that had never been done or experienced before. That moment is now deeply etched into their soul and heart. And they will forever carry it.

As the meeting wears on, I find myself going through the entire spectrum of emotions one can experience.

To be honest, it’s not always pleasant. Sometimes I wish I could simply reach out and turn it off. At other times, I fear turning it off. Fearful that God may be trying to use this very moment of pain to show me, teach me something that I need to learn to be in a better position to aid others. What I do understand now, after having been in this group for some time, is that I cannot turn it off. Not even if I tried. The memories and experiences were real, despite the pain and sorrow I now carry. God doesn’t want me to forget the brothers I lost. To do so, would serve no purpose but to minimize their sacrifice and loss. Those men still live, in part by my remembering them. Time spent remembering the days we had together, the struggles we faced while leaning upon one another, the laughter we shared and the lessons we benefitted from. To forget them would be a great disservice to them. I will not do that; despite the pain I now endure over their loss.

Each man who attends these Monday Night Meetings, I dare say, carries that same attitude.

We will not forget our Brothers, whether still alive or passed on. Brothers, do nothing less. We’re not ashamed of anything we did. We did it for the Brother on our right and for the Brother on our left. We did it for the children we left at home or those children yet to be born. We did it because we believe that the United States was and still is the “Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.” We did it for you, the very one now reading or hearing this story. We did it for the ones who may come across these words in times to come.

This is the truth of who we are as men and what we seek for the generations to follow.

So, what is the Monday Night Meeting of combat veterans and veterans with PTSD all about? 

Maybe to answer that, you need to go reread this article. Take some time to even read between the lines. Take some time to investigate the faces of veterans you know, especially those among your family. Look at the colors they wear and the stories those colors tell. Listen to them as never before. Don’t try to put a label on them, much less spend time trying to figure them out. Most of them don’t even know the answers to some of those questions.

That’s why they’re here to start with.

They are on a journey and sometimes they need the companionship of a trusted friend or loved one to simply hold their hand and walk silently with them.

They are on a journey that has led them to a place like ours. A place where they find comradery and hope.

They are on a journey and sometimes that journey demands that they walk alone. Yet they are not alone, even when they appear to be. They are carrying a lot of men around with them. Their rucksacks are full of memories of days long past. Don’t try to remove that rucksack. That will only lead to a bad situation. I would even advise you not to ask that man about the contents of his rucksack. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. More importantly, he’ll tell you when he knows you are ready. Instead, offer that veteran a hand in carrying that heavy load. It’s a journey you too, won’t soon forget.